Water Pressure
by Phx
Summary: After a run-in with Alan, Gordon suspects something is wrong. He's right. Second Part up now.
1. Chapter 1

_Yeah, Yeah, I know. I'm supposed to be working on the next chapter of "Head in the Clouds" but this little two shot demanded to be written first. So here is the first part and the second will be up in the next day or two. It is completed, I just need to do some tweaking. Special thank you to Red Hardy for beta'ing. And please let me know what you think!_

**Water Pressure**

Sixteen-year-old Alan Tracy stood at the edge of the pool and stared down at the placid water in the larger of his family's outdoor pools. Home for a break from school, the young Thunderbird-in-training let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. He could hear his brothers joking and laughing behind him in the house and while he loved his family dearly, sometimes it just really sucked being a Tracy.

"Hey, Al," a very chipper voice called out from behind him and Alan grimaced. Okay so not all his brothers were inside. He should have known Gordon would be out here. After all there was water in the pool, wasn't there? "Want to go for a quick dip?"

"No," the word came out sharper then he intended as the teen turned towards the older red-head. It was the first time he'd seen Gordon since his father had dropped him off late last night. Normally Fermat would have been with them but Brains had picked his son up from Wharton Academy earlier the previous day so they could spend the week on Thunderbird Five, relieving a very appreciative John.

"You don't have to bite my head off," Gordon countered, dropping a thick terry towel into a poolside lounger and stretching his muscular arms out high over his head as he loosened up. "Just trying to be sociable." Then with the same grace and power that had won him an Olympic medal, the swimmer dove into the pool and quickly stroked across to the other side. "You sure you don't want to come in?" he shouted back at Alan, "Water's perfect and I promise not to kick your ass too badly if you want to race!"

Alan's face darkened, his hands curled into fists as his chest tightened. "I said no."

But Gordon wasn't taking no for an answer and seemed oblivious to his brother's increasing agitation.

"What are you? Chicken? Bwack, bwack, bwack!"

"What the hell is wrong with you? No, means NO! I don't want to swim – I hate water and-" Alan tried to stop himself but the words were spitting out before he could, "-and I hate you!" Horrified and embarrassed, the blond then took off from the pool before a stunned Gordon could do more than gape.

"Okay then," the swimmer finally exhaled, his troubled gaze puzzled as he looked in the direction of his retreating brother, "Guess that's a no…"

----

Alan bypassed the house and was running by the time he hit the beach but no matter how fast or hard he ran he couldn't escape the pain on Gordon's face when he'd hurled those nasty words at him. _And I hate you!_ It wasn't fair or right. He knew it wasn't Gordon's fault. Not really. But in a way it was, in a very big way, and for that very reason the teen continued to run.

Maybe if he ran far enough, things would different.

------

"What the hell is wrong with Alan?" Gordon grumbled as he stalked into the kitchen. His three older brothers were all in various stages of breakfast and glanced up at him.

"What do you mean?" It was Virgil who asked as Scott had a mouthful of pancakes and John was drinking down a cold glass of apple juice.

"What I mean is that kid is absolutely surly," Gordon continued to gripe sitting down heavily across from Virgil and frowning. His hair was still wet from the water, the towel now slung around his shoulders. The normally chipper red-head was still stung by his younger brother's attitude just moments ago. "I asked him if he wanted to go for a swim before we ate and he just about took my frickin' head off!"

"Well, the kid never was a morning person," Scott reminded with a grin. "He probably just got up on the wrong side this morning."

Gordon considered that for a moment, then shook his head, "He said he hated me but more importantly that he hated swimming! Since when does anyone in this family hate water?"

"Oh yeah, that's the important part," John commented dryly, reaching for the carafe of juice and refilling his glass. "Did anyone ever tell you that your priorities are a bit messed up?"

"Sure," Gordon grinned, "all the time."

"If Sprout said he hated you," Virgil sized his younger brother up over a forkful of pancakes, "that leaves one to ask, what were you doing to torment him?"

"Hey! I'm the victim here!" the red-head protested snatching Virgil's fork and jamming the food into his mouth. "Sum smp'thy 'ere."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Scott chastised with a light slap on the back of the head.

Gordon glared at him before John was cutting in. "Why don't you just go ask Al what the problem is? He seemed okay this morning when I saw him in the hall. A bit quieter than usual maybe but that's about it."

"Just ask him?" Gordon looked horrified. "Do you mean like talk to him? Contrary to big girls like you, Johnny, real guys don't talk. We belch, rub our bellies and deny everything. I can't talk to Alan! He's… he's… he's my brother!"

"Over dramatic much?" John rolled his eyes and finished off his second glass of juice.

"Pee like a racehorse much?" Gordon shot back, then swiped another pancake off Virgil's plate and danced out of slapping range as he left the table.

"Where are you going?" Scott demanded as Virgil cursed something quietly under his breath about ungrateful, food stealing little brothers.

"Duh! To talk to Alan of course!" And then Gordon was gone with John's sadly sighed words following him back outside,

"Doesn't act much like a twenty-year-old, does he?"

------

Gordon was pretty sure he'd find Alan on the beach. His younger brother loved to run when he was upset and it didn't take much to figure out that something was bothering the kid now. Yeah, Alan could be a brat at times - geez which brother couldn't? - but he wasn't prone to unprovoked surliness. In fact, one of Gordon and Virgils' favorite pastimes, when they were younger of course, was to see how quickly they could wind Alan up. The kid really was too easy sometimes. But this morning's attitude was really bugging Gordon and he knew his little brother well enough to know something was wrong. Now it was just a matter of finding out what.

Grabbing a cold bottle of water as he left the kitchen, Gordon trotted towards the ocean. It was another gorgeous day but he only had eyes for the forlorn figure standing just on the edge of the sand, cerulean blue water lapping at his feet. His arms folded across his chest, Alan stared out over the ocean, his mind a million miles of way.

Alan gave no indication that he heard Gordon until the red-head held out the bottle of water thankful for his foresight as he saw the sweat beaded on his brother's face. Alan's t-shirt hugged his lanky frame and blond hair plastered his tanned forehead, his chest still rising and falling quickly from his sprint.

"A bit too warm for running," Gordon commented mildly, pleased when Alan took the water and drank half the bottle down before pulling it away from his lips, wiping his mouth and offering Gordon an acknowledging but quiet thank you. "So you want to tell me what's crawled up your ass and died or am I going to have to wrestle it out of your first, 'cause I hate to tell you  
this bro, even with all the extra training Dad and Scott have you doing, I can still take you." He mirrored Alan's pose, arms crossed loosely across his chest, gaze facing forward and over the water.

"Everything isn't a competition," Alan's voice was quiet and husky with fatigue. Gordon glanced across at his sibling taking in the darkness under Alan's eyes and paleness beneath the tan - the kid was exhausted.

"It is in our family," he countered.

Alan snorted and shook his head.

Gordon waited. The sound of the surf pounding on the shore sang to his love of the ocean and it was tempting to kick off his sandals and dive into the incoming waves but he didn't. Instead he inhaled the salt, felt the sun on his face and waited for his little brother to crack. He really didn't have to wait long…

"Look, it's nothing," Alan finally admitted. "Really. Nothing I can't handle."

Worry fisted in his stomach and the red-head looked at his brother again. "Doesn't sound like nothing to me."

"You don't even know what it is!"

"I don't have to. Alan, you've been sullen and sulky since Dad brought you home and while we give you shit about it all the time, that isn't you. Yeah, you've got all the teenage angst meets hormones thing going on but you're not mean or insensitive, so do you want to just tell me what's got you so pissed off that you're taking pot shots at me and then hiding out down here or should I just start guessing?"

Alan glared at him. Gordon shrugged. "Fine. Let me see," he pursed his lips in careful consideration. "You found that no matter how much you pull on it, it isn't going to get any bigger?"

"You're an ass."

"Gee, thank you," the older Tracy gave a graceful bow. He straightened and took another guess, "Oh I know, I know! How about-"

"They won't let me run."

Gordon paused mid-sentence. Whatever he'd been thinking it might be – and really it was too bad Alan didn't let him guess some more 'cause he had some very excellent ideas to try out – that wasn't it. The disbelief must have shown on his face because Alan snorted loudly, shook his head and started to walk away.

"Hey, wait!" the water Tracy called after his brother and hurried to catch up. "What do you mean they won't let you run? Who are they? And where aren't you allowed to run?" He was drawing a blank. Alan was fast and he had the stamina of a wolf, why couldn't he run?

"The coach, at Wharton's." Alan answered, not stopping. "_Your_ coach."

"My coach?" Gordon paused and then comprehension had him hurrying to cover the distance between. "You mean Coach Manners? He's still there?"

"Well, duh," Alan picked up his pace. "Just let it go, Gordon. I got it."

"Alan, wait!" Fed up with trying to carry on a conversation at a sprint, Gordon reached out and grabbed Alan's arm, letting go instantly when the kid hissed in pain and yanked away. "Alan?"

"It's nothing," the teen was too quick to dismiss but rubbed at the arm anyway.

Moving to block his brother, Gordon was serious, all attempts at humor gone. Alan was hurt. Nothing funny about that. "Show me."

Alan looked mutinous but then huffed loudly. "Fine. But it's nothing," he repeated petulantly. "Really."

"Yeah so you keep saying," Gordon retorted distractedly, his attention on the large _hand shaped_ bruise wrapped around his brother's bicep. It was dark purple and painful looking and even Gordon's basic medical training told him how hard his brother had to have been held to make that injury, and he fumed. Someone had hurt his little brother. His _only_ little brother. That someone had made a huge mistake. If Gordon was this angry he could only imagine what Scott's reaction was going to be. The eldest Tracy sibling thought of his brothers as his own personal property and didn't take to lightly anyone messing with them. "Alan," he tried to keep his voice steady even as blood surged furiously through his veins, "Who did this to you?"

Alan opened his mouth and Gordon cut him off, "And don't you dare say it doesn't matter or that it isn't important." The blond's jaw snapped shut. "Alan…" this time it was a warning growl. "I want to know."

"He just got pissed when I told him 'no', okay?"

Gordon's stomach curdled, his thoughts dark, and as if Alan realized how it sounded, the kid hurried on, "I don't want to swim, he doesn't get it. He keeps wanting me to be just like you, but I can't, Gordon, and no offence but I don't want to be."

_Coach Manners_.

Gordon felt sick as things clicked into place. Manners had been a strong advocate for Gordon's journey to the Olympic podium. As the head of the athletics department and swim coach at the boarding school Gordon had attended during his senior year, he had seen Gordon's potential way beyond what the teen himself had seen and had orchestrated a swimmer into an Olympian. But as far he knew, Manners had only taken a job at Wharton Academy that fall, coincidentally putting him in the same school as the youngest Tracy, and Alan had only mentioned it in passing a couple of months ago but hadn't said anything since then.

"So he did that to you?" He glared at the mark on his brother's arm. Manners was a big hulk of a man and while he had never been aggressive with Gordon – he hadn't needed to be – the young man had been witness to the coach's eruptible temper on occasion. The red-head's anger burned as he thought of the coach turning that temper on his kid brother.

Alan shrugged dismissively.

"Jesus, Sprout," Gordon growled, "would you just spill?"

"Fine. You want to know what happened?" the blond spat, "You really want to know? I wanted to run on the track team. He wouldn't let me. Made me swim and then got pissed when I wasn't as good as you. Yeah, like anyone'd be as good as you," Alan huffed and Gordon wasn't sure if it was pride or resentment in that statement but he didn't say anything and his brother continued. "He pulled me aside after I came in second against another school and asked me what the hell was up. I reminded him that I didn't want to be here – I wanted on the track team. Guess he didn't like my answer 'cause next thing I knew he had me slammed against the lockers and-" Alan suddenly just stopped, took a breath and then lied, "and that's all."

Gordon knew Alan was lying. Something else happened and he needed to know. He needed to know just how far this had gone. "That's not all." He rebutted, "So out with it."

Alan glared at him – and thank God the kid wasn't Medusa or Gordon'd be stone by now – and actually growled, "And he warned me that if I didn't do better and start winning for him, he'd fail Fermat."

_Fermat?_

Gordon was so angry he started to shake and had to turn away from his brother. The coach was blackmailing Alan with Alan's best friend. It was no secret that the younger teen was a genius and got straight A+'s in everything… except physical education. The kid just wasn't an athlete but he always got by, in part because Alan really helped him and it was no stretch to know that it would hurt Fermat greatly to fail at anything. Even gym. So Manners had found Alan's Achilles heel.

"God-damnit," he hissed as he stalked down the water's edge and let the surf wash over his feet. _That sonnvabitch._

"Gordon?" Alan sounded a bit nervous and the older Tracy quickly turned back to his brother to let Al know it wasn't him that Gordon was angry with.

"He had no right to do that to you. To put you in that position. Man, I'm so sorry, bro -"

"It's not your fault," Alan immediately absolved him.

"But it kinda is," Gordon refused to be let off so easily, "Manners only went after you because of me."

"Yeah, okay, but it's still not your fault. He just can't seem to get it through his head that I don't want to be on the swim team. I like swimming but I don't want to compete. That's your job," he offered Gordon a shy smile and then sighed sadly, "But I don't want him failing Fermat because of it either."

Gordon understood. "Did you talk to Dad about this?"

Alan shook his head. "No. He'd been in meetings all day yesterday before he picked me up and seemed pretty stressed… and I was kinda hoping to figure out what to do myself, you know?" He snorted derisively, "I really hate this."

The older Tracy understood. Jeff was heavily involved in a merger at this moment and while he had been determined to be the one to fly Alan home for the break, it was also the only time they'd gotten together before the man had to return to the mainland that morning. And Gordon also understood his brother's need to fix this himself; it was hard to ask for help with something especially when you were a Thunderbird.

However, another thing about being a member of International Rescue was remembering you were part of a team, and team members always had each other's backs. So while Alan himself might not be in any position to make the coach see common sense, there were other people who were.

"But," Alan found Gordon's gaze and burned electric blue into darker hazel, "I'm sorry for being such a dick earlier. I don't hate the water, and I really, really don't hate you."

Gordon huffed in fond exasperation. Of course he'd known his brother hadn't been serious when he'd spat those angry words at him but it was still nice to hear. However, in an attempt to avoid the hug he felt building between them, Gordon feigned indignation. "Well, duh. How could anyone hate water?"

Alan burst out laughing.

Playfully pushing at his sibling, Gordon shoved his brother towards the house. "C'mon, Squirt, breakfast is getting cold."

The younger Tracy allowed himself to be manhandled even as he asked. "You won't tell Dad will you?"

"Don't worry about it," Gordon promised. "Dad won't be hearing it from me."

"Thanks, bro," Alan smiled at him and then just as they reached the outside patio paused and looked at his brother seriously, "And I guess being on the swim team really won't be that bad, right? I mean I can still run, he can't stop me from doing that."

"Don't worry about it, Al," Gordon assured him, "a lot can happen in a week."

Alan didn't look convinced but didn't dwell on it either, just let himself be pushed the final few feet into the house and hurried towards the kitchen. The kid had to be starving if the hole in Gordon's own stomach was anything to go by.

John and Virgil were still at the table, John poring over a newspaper while he finished a slice of toast. Virgil had shoved his plate to the side and was sketching something on a napkin. They both looked up when Alan and Gordon came in.

"Uh oh, trouble's on deck," John teased lightly even as he pushed an empty glass towards Alan and poured the kid some juice.

"Bite me," Alan retorted amicably, then flashed a quick grin as he picked up the glass, "Thanks."

"You really are a very complex person," Virgil mused, affably, "all ass and attitude one moment, fluff and gratitude the next."

Alan flipped him the bird, then sat down and grabbed some toast from the middle of the table.

Gordon just rolled his eyes, then caught Scott's attention and gave a quick tip of the chin towards the living room. He'd promised Alan he wouldn't mention anything to Jeff about his situation, but he never said anything about Scott.

And ten minutes later when a furious Scott logged a flight plan to Massachusetts, Gordon knew he'd done the right thing.

And he had to admit, he was kind of looking forward to seeing his old coach again…

No one messed with Gordon's family.

No one.

Part two coming in the next day or two!


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh wow. I am totally stunned by the response to this. THANK YOU so much for all your kind words and 'cause Sam1 asked so nicely, I'm posting this tonight. So I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. Aren't these young men just so awesome? Phx_

**Water Pressure 2**

Chris Manners was a big man. At just over 6'2, the muscular coach prided himself on keeping fit which was why, while most of the students at Wharton's were home for the week visiting family, he was in the school gym running laps. Normally he ran outside but it was pouring rain and, as much as he enjoyed swimming, he hated getting wet unless it was in a pool.

His mind churned as he ran, anger still simmering over the run-in he'd had with an insolent young swimmer the day before. How dare Alan Tracy tell him he didn't want to swim; and how dare the little bastard throw the meet because Manners was positive that was what Alan had done, lost on purpose, and that if he'd really wanted to, Alan could have won.

"Did it to spite me," he growled as his running shoes pounded out a rhythm on the shiny flooring and echoed through the empty halls. "Kid has no idea who he's messing with!" Although he was pretty sure that after his 'talk' to Tracy, the teen would think twice about screwing things up again. The look of fear on the blond's face when he'd slammed him against the lockers and held him there, and the absolute defeat that quickly followed when Manners had brought Fermat into things convinced the man that Alan would be seeing things differently now. Screw the track team. Sure the boy could run but in the water was where'd he excel. After all he was Gordon Tracy's brother so swimming was in his blood.

Thinking of Gordon made Chris smile. Man, that kid was talented. More fish than human, the man was pretty sure chlorine coursed through the red-head's veins in place of blood. The highlight of his coaching career had been standing next to Gordon after he'd received his Gold Medal. And all the attention Manner's had received in the following year had kept his pockets well lined and his reputation unquestioned in the coaching world.

A find like Gordon Tracy was a once in a lifetime thing so when he heard that there was a younger brother, a second athlete, studying at Wharton Academy, Manner's just had to get to him. And now that he had, the man refused to let his next success be stymied by a petulant teenager who had no idea what was best for him.

So if threatening Alan and his best friend was the only way to do it, the coach had no problem doing so, firm in his belief that when Alan got his gold, he'd be thanking Chris, just as Gordon had. They just had to get past the kid's insistence about running on the track team first.

Picking up the pace, Manners decided he'd do five more laps then hit the showers and call it a day. Maybe he'd even pop in the video of Gordon's Olympic winning swim for old time's sake. It had been a week or more since he'd last watched it after all.

------

"I'm going to throttle him," Scott had been at it since taking off from the island a couple hours before. "Wrap my hands around his throat and see how he likes to be pounded into the lockers."

Gordon rolled his eyes, easily keeping stride with his taller brother as they moved across the campus and towards the gym. Security had told them Coach Manners was still there. It was still raining but neither young man noticed, too used to working in the worst climate conditions to be bothered by a bit of drizzle. "Actually I'd kinda like to do this without a whole lot of violence. Explaining to Dad why you need bail money is not exactly on the top of my to-do list today."

"Oh I won't kill him…" Scott promised darkly, "_much_. You can live without a lung right?"

The younger Tracy was beginning to think that maybe bringing Scott with him hadn't been the brightest idea. Virgil or John were more even tempered and might have been the wiser choice. _But_ if Coach Manners did refuse to listen to reason, and remembering very well just how big the man was, Scott was still the best man to have at his back. Gordon always considered himself more a lover than a fighter. And then his ears turned bright red at that thought. All right, so maybe he was still working on that part…

"Just let me do the talking, okay?" Gordon beseeched. "You can stand behind me and look intimidating or something."

Scott huffed, very obviously not liking the idea. He was used to leading but on this one Gordon really felt it'd better for Scott to follow. After all Gordon had once thought very highly of the ill-fated coach and had considered him a good friend.

"Scott?" This was very important to the younger Thunderbird.

Another huff, this one more long-suffering followed by an eye-roll. "Fine," he dragged the word out. "For now." And that was about the best Gordon could hope for.

The coach really had no idea just how badly he'd messed up when he went after Alan. The young Olympian almost pitied the man but then remembered the nasty bruise on Alan's arm, on both his arms actually Gordon had seen later, and his countenance darkened.

"C'mon," he encouraged. "Let's just get this done."

They heard the coach before they saw him, easily following the sound of pounding feet through the empty halls and into the large gymnasium. The man himself was exactly as Gordon remembered. Large. But whereas before, the second youngest Tracy had thought of him like a big old teddy bear, this time he saw him through Alan's eyes and did not like what he saw. A bully.

"Gordon?" Manners saw them immediately, "Gordon Tracy?" He hurried towards them, one beefy hand held out to shake. "What a coincidence!" he beamed then wiped his hand off on his shorts when neither of the younger men reached for it. He held it out again. "I was just thinking about you."

"I bet you were," Scott growled from beside Gordon and the younger brother shot him a daggered look. The pilot met the glare with a totally unapologetic shrug.

Instantly the warmth and friendliness were dropped, as was the coach's unshaken hand, as the man seemed to realize that this was no social visit. And it didn't take much to figure out why the men were here.

"Ah, this is about Alan then," he speculated, his smile much more predatory now. "Guess you saw the bruises."

"You might say that," Gordon stiffened at the dismissive tone in the big man's voice. "Care to explain?" He wasn't interested in listening really but curiosity pressed the question. He just hoped Scott could keep his cool over whatever bull Manners was about to try to feed them.

"Things happen in training," the man stated dismissively.

"Things like my brother not wanting to actually be on the team?"

Gordon shoved at Scott. "Out. Now," he whispered harshly as he tried to maneuver the older man away from the coach, "Go glare at him from the doorway or something!" Scott opened his mouth to protest but the younger man shook his head in exasperation. "I said I wanted to handle this, Scott. Me!"

"He's my brother too!" Scott shot back even as he did let his brother push him closer to the entrance.

"Yes, but I'm the reason he's getting harassed!"

That shut the older man up.

"Let me do this my way, man, _please?_" Gordon knew his brother had caved even before Scott locked his eyes on the coach, leaned against the side wall and folded his arms. The swimmer took it for what it was and nodded his appreciation.

"Gordon?" Coach Manners approached them but Gordon quickly moved to meet him. He didn't need the man getting too close to Scott knowing his big brother's restraint was tenuous at best. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, actually there is," Gordon cut through the crap knowing Scott would only indulge him for a short while. "Alan isn't me. He's a good kid, an awesome runner but he isn't me, and making him swim on a team he doesn't want to be on isn't only unfair to him, it isn't right." Manners opened his mouth but Gordon spoke over him, not interested in anything his former coach had to say. His voice was low and hard. "Threatening to fail Fermat if Alan doesn't win is blackmail. Slamming my brother against the lockers and pinning him there so tightly that his arms are bruised is assault. Child abuse." His hazel eyes were dark brown with intensity. "My father doesn't know about this yet, but he will and when he does… well, consider this a friendly warning. One I'm only giving you out of respect for the man you used to be… but if you're still coach of this fine facility when Alan comes back to school on Monday, all bets are off."

"It'd be my word against his," the coach bit back. "No witnesses. You think I'm that stupid? And with your brother's track record for trouble-"

Gordon had the man slammed against the side of wall before he even realized what he was going to do. His hands fisted in the coach's shirt and he held the larger man in place. "Don't!" he snarled as Scott hurried towards them. "Don't you even dare! You think I'm fooling around about this? You think he is?" he tipped his gaze towards a furious looking Scott. He waited a heartbeat then with one final shove, let the man go and moved back to stand by his brother.

Side by side, granite featured and angry he knew that he and Scott made a formidable force. And he was pleased to see the confident arrogance on Manners' face shift to barely concealed concern and finally edging towards fear. The man was finally starting to get it.

"You really do not want the full wrath of my family coming down on you 'cause let me assure you that when Jefferson Tracy finds out what one of his sons has been subjected to, there won't be any place on this planet or the next that you'll be able to hide… So take this for what this is – a head start."

Scott glanced at Gordon probably surprised by the amount of venom in his younger brother's voice. Gordon didn't very often play the heavy; then again he usually didn't have to. But this time things were personal. Someone Gordon had once respected and thought a lot of had harassed, hurt and made Alan's life miserable and all because of Gordon… The gloves were off.

The coach looked from Gordon to Scott and then back to Gordon again. "You know," he snorted bitterly, "he was never even half as good as you anyway."

"He doesn't have to be," Gordon growled back then turned to leave confident the message, and warning, had gotten through.

A flash of movement had him twisting around again in time to see Scott slam the other man back against the wall, a forearm pressed hard against Manners' throat. Gordon almost moved to stop him. Almost. Alan was Scott's brother too.

"My brother is much nicer than I am so let me just add my two cents worth." And then too quick for the man to defend against, Scott pulled back his fist and rammed it into the coach's stomach, releasing him and watching with satisfaction as the big guy dropped to his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. "If there is any backlash for Alan or _any_ of his friends over this in _any_ way, I'll be back." He leaned over; his voice dropped, his tone sending chills even through Gordon. "_And let me promise you this, you sadistic sonnovabitch. You don't want _that_ to happen._"

Coach Manners swallowed hard and slowly shook his head. His face was pale and Gordon was pretty sure he was trying not to throw up.

"Yeah," he rasped out breathing hard, "'Got it."

"Good," Scott's smile was feral and then he nodded at Gordon. "I think we're done here."

Gordon agreed and led the way out of the gym confident that come Monday morning, Alan would become a star member on the Wharton Academy track team… or whatever else the kid wanted to be.

"So, Gordo," Scott was practically bouncing as he walked beside the younger man, cowering a bully was always a high for the Thunderbird leader. "When you gonna tell Dad?"

Gordon froze. Oh crap.

"After all," Scott continued with a big grin, "And I quote," he cleared his throat and did his best 'Gordon' impersonation, "_Just let me do the talking, okay? You can stand behind me and look intimidating or something._"

The younger man narrowed his eyes. "You know…" he stated slowly, "sometimes I really hate you."

Scott started laughing and slung an arm loosely over Gordon's shoulder, "Would it help if I gave you a hug first?"

"Oh, you are so dead!"

But Scott was already running, hollering over his shoulder something about 'short brothers' and 'promises, promises'.

Gordon shook his head and gave chase. He had four brothers, three older, one younger, and he wouldn't trade them for anything.

The image of a pool full of naked chicks had him smirking though. Okay, well maybe not for _most_ anything.

The End


End file.
